


Relic

by Khadgarfield



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27796561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khadgarfield/pseuds/Khadgarfield
Summary: Remembering Anduin had always been an exercise in magical thinking.Confronting Anduin was very, very daunting.
Relationships: Wrathion/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 22
Kudos: 94





	Relic

**Author's Note:**

> If we analyze the principles of thought on which magic is based, they will probably be found to resolve themselves ... that things which have once been in contact with each other continue to act on each other at a distance after the physical contact has been severed... From [this principle] the magician ... infers that whatever he does to a material object will affect equally the person with whom the object was once in contact, whether it formed part of his body or not.
> 
> James George Frazer, The Golden Bough, Bartleby, 1922

His image was a talisman, laden with the magic of a first kiss - when Wrathion found himself alone in the mountains, with a breeze at his back, or high in cloud cloaked cliffs by the sea, it was his memory that made it easier to suffer the beauty.

The young dragon was old enough now, however, to know that tokens meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Loyalty was a shackle more cumbersome than a legacy, but still he found himself compelled as he knelt before the throne. The gilded youth upon it looked different to how he did, many years ago – different to the echo Wrathion recalled sometimes, to remember in the way that awestruck fingers caress faces carved in stone. Wrathion could still feel the light in him, though, just like he remembered. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was standing in the heat of the sun. 

“You believe this will work?” Anduin asked, brilliant blue eyes locking with embered ones, speaking volumes yet also, somehow, divulging nothing.

“I don’t believe, I _know_.”

The King looked at Wrathion as though he wasn’t convinced, but he was desperate enough not to say so. With a wave of his hand, his offer was accepted; The Black Prince would help the champions of the Alliance and soon, N’Zoth would be exorcised. 

Wrathion didn’t need to wait long to be vindicated. When they met in the aftermath, under the canopy of an old tree in the courtyard at The Keep, the shadow that had lay over Anduin like the night lay over the Great Sea had dissipated. He seemed unburdened. He allowed himself to smile freely, to relent to small bouts of laughter, and more than once let his hand brush against Wrathion’s discreetly when he thought no one could see. The contact reminded Wrathion of a time when the two of them had sat on a craggy cliffside together, overlooking distant misty valleys and mapping ancient stars. Neither one had wanted to draw attention to the way their fingers had laced together, then, and neither one of them wanted to acknowledge it now.

 _Does this mean that I am forgiven,_ Wrathion wondered, _or simply that Anduin is willing to admit gratitude when decency requires?_

Wrathion knew that by any kind of stilted human reasoning, he didn’t deserve clemency for what he had done. In spite of this, a part of him had hoped that Anduin would exonerate him anyway. If Wrathion hadn’t believed as much, then perhaps he would have faltered in his duty to come back - Guarding a tiny blue dot in a vast black cosmos could be surprisingly difficult, when confronted by the prospect of a single human man.

_Man._

It struck Wrathion as strange, that Anduin was now a man. Human aging was virtually meaningless to him, yet somehow that handspan of time between then and now had disrupted his ritual of remembrance severely. Wrathion had cradled his adolescent image so closely, after all. Spent nights with it overlooking the Barrens or the deep, lush forests of Sholazar Basin. Anduin had lingered with him as he walked across ranges and through deep gorges, and soon even the geography of Azeroth itself began to resemble the shapes of his shoulders. His lips. His thighs. Wrathion ran his thoughts across him so often, that soon he became the pattern in which his brain was wired, and in the end he had started seeing him everywhere. A wraith. A vestige. An allusion to a burgeoning, beckoning heart that was familiar, but altogether foreign, now. Wrathion realized that it wasn’t for Azeroth, or for dignity, that he had really come back.

Not really.

He thought Anduin had to know this too. The King must have recognized the way Wrathion replayed their time together over and over in his head, just as he would recognize a holy man who ran his hand over beads in prayer and prostrated himself in a relentless cycle of exaltation. Anduin must understand the urgent, ardent way that Wrathion sought benediction, not just for what he had done so long ago but for all those times he stayed far away and kept only dreams of him as company, as well. The thought of being understood so thoroughly was reminiscent of the void whispering in his ear - it scared him, yet it was dangerously alluring, too. The dragon’s jaw ached, a phantom of where he was struck that he knew would linger with him across centuries, yet a part of him wished the King might do it again. Maybe if he did, the sweet agony of his longing would become inconsequential.

Anduin’s shoulder knocked against his own, and his fingers skimmed the inside of Wrathion’s palm, as they paced down the corridor towards the throne room. There were still so many Lords and Advisors, waiting to hear the good news. Neither one of them spoke, but at the edge of his vision Wrathion could see the tension lingering in the set of Anduin’s jaw. Though his thanks had been gracious, his bearing continued to be laced with resentment.

_Understood, yes, but unforgiven still._

Wrathion said as much aloud, as eloquently as he could. Anduin narrowed his eyes. He drew his hand away, and there was a moment where Wrathion thought he should have kept his silence, but then the King invited the dragon to a private game of Juhui in his chambers this evening.

“It will be just like the good old days,” he insisted coolly, even though they both knew that nothing was really the same.

...

Alone in his chambers, Anduin resembled his younger incarnation – his expression was not so terse, and his body sloped over the table as he studied the board between them. Dressed simply, he looked fit, but slighter than he did in gleaming silver and gold. Wrathion could tell, however, that the strength in his arms and back was built with a sword that felt no great love for his hand. He watched the King’s fingers touch the edge of a tile, hesitate, then make his move. Those bright blue eyes flickered upwards to fix on Wrathion’s face. The longer he stared, the deeper the discomfort took root in Wrathion’s belly.

_What is he waiting for?_

“You are still shorter than I am,” the dragon said, trying to break the silence that had fallen heavily between them. It did not sound light or casual, but forced and hollow. Wrathion immediately regretted saying anything. Anduin sighed.

“And you are still no match for me at Juhui. I look smaller without my armour on, obviously.”

“You do realize I am letting you win?”

This made Anduin laugh.

“How can your mouth be so impudent when you yearn to press it against my own?”

Wrathion bristled.

“How can you be so cold,” He snapped, “when you shine so brightly?”

Now it was Anduin’s turn to take umbrage. His cheeks darkened, and his eyes flashed with the same anger Wrathion had seen in them that day. When he had met the young man that that angelic, virtuous boy had become for the first time.

“Murderer,” he clipped, and it was there was an ache in it. A bone deep one, like an abscess concealed beneath his skin.

“Still mad about that?” Wrathion’s intonation wobbled, almost imperceptibly. Anduin didn’t seem to notice.

“I will hold it against you forever.”

“That’s not long, for a human.”

Silence. Anduin continued to stare at him, unrelenting. His gaze was torment, reminding Wrathion of the all-seeing eye of the vanquished corruptor. How could he turn it off his face? How could he conceal himself, and his shame, or at least un-yolk himself from this ruthless, consuming exchange?

“How can I gain your forgiveness?” he asked finally, and this time his voice cracked fully under the strain.

“You can’t.” Anduin replied.

“Really? By no means? You have not a single request to make?”

Anduin looked thoughtful for a moment, sitting back in his seat and regarding his company with wary eyes. The game of Juhui was forgotten, and Wrathion could see something much more cerebral unfolding inside his mind.

“Actually,” His words were weighted with contemplation. “perhaps there is something you can do.”

“Anything, Anduin.”

His lips twitched at the corners, tightening his grip on Wrathion’s heart.

“Kiss me, then.” He said simply, “As you so sorely wish to.”

Wrathion did not need to be invited twice.

Anduin’s lips tasted like honey – like the golden libations the Sunwalkers poured on altars to An’she. His hair smelt like the rolling sand of Tanaris, warm and laden with an aromatic sweetness that evoked censers in bygone cathedrals. His skin was radiating heat, shimmering like a mirage on a distant horizon. Wrathion was pulled into his gravity, drawn to his feet, knocking aside the Juihui board to crawl across the table and meet him like a supplicant grovels at the foot of a god. Anduin kissed him back, deeply, pulling him close and knocking back his chair in his haste to close the gap of years and miles that had kept the two of them apart. It was _exactly_ as Wrathion remembered, exactly like all those infinitesimal seconds that forged deep channels in his brain. The way he breathed was most familiar of all – it echoed deep in the caverns of his chest, and reflected Wrathion’s own.

“Murderer,” Anduin murmured weakly, even as his hands dragged up Wrathion’s neck and tied in the curls that fell to his shoulders. “Traitor. You’re lucky I never killed you on sight.”

 _You did,_ Wrathion thought to himself, hysterically. _You slew me many years ago, now._

“An eye for an eye?” He gasped. “How unlike you.”

The young King silenced him, pulling his face close, sinking his tongue between his lips in the way he had never dared in the past. Wrathion felt his heart swell, too big for his human skin, and when Anduin licked against the roof of his mouth he felt other parts of himself surging, too. He never really understood the compulsion to make offerings to the heavens before right now, but as Anduin pulled him off the table, and they stumbled through the waiting chamber into his private quarters, Wrathion thought he finally understood the way that the penitent rubbed milk and flowers against shapes of aniconic stone. Anduin’s hands anointed his flesh, sliding beneath his clothing and examining the edges of his body. His palms left sparkling fissures of sensation, like crazed opal, behind them.

Wrathion responded in kind. He pulled off Anduin’s simple shirt, raked his nails over scars he already knew off by heart. Anduin’s nipples were rigid beneath his fingers. His chest was warm and dusted with fine blonde hairs. He hooked an arm around Wrathion’s neck, his other hand delving between their bodies and pulling at the ties of Wrathion’s trousers. The dragon pushed him back, onto the bed, and Anduin fell like a fragment of the sun plummeting out of the sky. The dragon finished undoing the front of his pants. Anduin mirrored him. They didn’t even take a moment to look at one another before Wrathion was seizing his knees and pushing them apart. Anduin dragged himself further up the bed, lying against the pillows and welcoming Wrathion’s hips between his legs. His fingers pressed hard into Wrathion’s waist – they kissed again, and rocked against one another, and Wrathion felt the cool, smooth rub of Anduin’s silky trousers against his cock. Frustrated, he pushed their pants down further, pursuing the slide of Anduin’s length against his own.

And then, finally, contact. Sensitive skin on sensitive skin. Anduin was just as hard as he was, and when Wrathion rolled his hips on his he moaned, a heady and shameless sound. Wrathion felt himself melt against the brace of his body, falling into a rhythm of rutting between his legs. Anduin’s head dropped against the pillow in unbridled bliss, his lips flushed and glossed with the index of a thousand kisses and the infinite, uncountable potential for more. One of his hands shifted from Wrathions hips and down into the space that separated them. His fingers curled around their cocks, and Wrathion was fully aware of how clueless and messy this act was because neither of them had done anything like this with someone else before. It was lucky their flesh told them what to do, lucky that instinct showed them how to touch places that ached for contact, and guided them to repeat actions that built tension of a profound, delicious kind.

Wrathion bit softly at his throat, daring to drag sharp teeth along his skin and licking up the blossoming pink marks left behind. He could feel himself walking a delicate border, teetering on an edge between ruin and salvation - Anduin’s hand felt better than anything he had ever experienced, more exhilarating that a freefall from the highest point in Hyjal. For a moment, Wrathion entertained the thought of staying like this, with Anduin’s legs bracing him, so he could make a home here in a human city. Create for himself a human life, even just for a little while. It was an impossible, fleeting, soulful wish, that resonated through every particle in his body.

Anduin flipped him, then, pulling him from his fantasy and pressing him against the mattress in the present instead. He sat atop him and his chest was heaving, and his brows furrowed in concentration as he leaned forward, braced himself with a hand next to Wrathion’s head, and curled his fingers loosely around their cocks. When he began to stroke, Wrathion wondered if he had practiced this in his mind a thousand times. If he thought of Wrathion when did this to himself, all those endless nights that he was alone. The young King looked wanton - Completely undone. Nothing at all like the powerful, stately man that had first met him after so, so long. Anduin looked vulnerable and desperate and _human,_ and Wrathion could feel himself staring up at him in the way a worshipper looks upon the dais and watches the blessing of the sacred cup. Wrathion thought he was watching the contents running over, mouth watering as he tasted the spill that dripped across his lips and his chin, but before he could even gasp in pleasure, Anduin shuddered. His nails dug hard into the pillow as he finished. His seed was hot on Wrathion’s chest and throat, and Wrathion had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. The way his lips parted in ecstasy was incomparable. His whole body rocked with the bliss of his orgasm. Climax came upon Wrathion like a fist to the face, pulling through his core and imploding between his legs. Anduin moaned softly as he felt Wrathion’s cock twitch. He turned his eyes down to watch in dazed wonder, as Wrathion dripped over his knuckles and into the bowl of his own navel.

How could humans contain such sensual goodness? How dare human flesh yield so agreeably to lust?

“You are still an idealist,” Wrathion panted, as Anduin slipped sideways and landed with a heavy thump on the mattress next to him.

“And you are still a dragon.” Anduin replied breathlessly, rolling on his side, his hair clinging in sweaty fingers to the edges of his face. He wiped his messy hand against Wrathion’s chest and the touch was featherlight, almost a ghost. It reminded Wrathion that one day, Anduin will be gone. His was a short human life, that illuminated this universe for a fraction of a moment with an utterly incomparable light. On that day, Wrathion knew he will have no choice but to go on without him, clinging desperately to his memory, as he always had done.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You like to think you're above being human.”

“I have a higher purpose, Anduin.”

“To me there is no higher purpose than doing what is right.”

_No higher purpose than love._

He was dangerously soft, this young King. Always had been. He was dangerously soft, and far too forgiving, but in spite of this (or perhaps because of it) Anduin Wrynn was still the darkness Wrathion saw when he was blinded by sunlight. Anduin Wrynn was his tribulation, his greatest charge, and tragically his lips were impressed deep on Wrathion’s soul. As his father was corrupted by the void, so too Wrathion found himself corrupted by the light - He swore that he would do everything in his power in the name of protecting Azeroth, but he knew deep in his core that Anduin’s mercy is far too sweet for him to resist. Anduin Wrynn could be the downfall of this world and everything in it, but Wrathion would never be able to lift a talon to stop him. He could well be the downfall of the last black dragon.

Wrathion drew Anduin close again, tasting his lips, pushing his hands through glinting, silken hair. As he felt the flames of sunlight, licking at the places his wings fused to his spine, Wrathion let himself burn.

**Author's Note:**

> the first fic for a new ship is always the hardest. eventually you just gotta stop fussing and post it before your brain explodes, huh. 
> 
> xoxo  
> your friend garf


End file.
